


Huddle Up!

by cablesscutie



Series: AU Please! [4]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, football au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2018-09-07 06:05:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8786473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cablesscutie/pseuds/cablesscutie
Summary: When Eric started high school, his father took a job coaching the Samwell Men's Football Team up in Massachusetts.  Jack Zimmermann, son of CFL star Bad Bob Zimmermann, attends his mother's alma mater in the states in hopes of making it to the NFL.





	1. Junior Year

Eric Bittle met Jack Zimmermann for the first time when he was sixteen years old. He’d just gotten his driver’s license that afternoon, so mama sent him to pick up Coach from work and surprise his father with the news. He let himself into Coach’s office and sat in the desk chair, propping his feet on a milk crate full of footballs while he scrolled through his email. Eric fired off replies to comments on the latest figure skating video he’d posted on YouTube until he heard voices coming down the hall and the door swung open.

“Junior? Well ain’t this a surprise! Where’s your mother?” Coach asked, smiling broadly under his moustache. 

“She’s at home,” Eric told him, hopping up out of the chair and pulling his temporary license out of his back pocket to show him. 

“What’s this?”

“Mama took me to the DMV this morning for my road test, I passed!” Coach crowded in close to squint down at the grainy black and white photo on the paper temp.

“Well would you look at that. Congrats, Junior.” Coach clapped Eric on the shoulder. “Now why don’t you repay me for those lessons by giving me and Jack here a ride?” he gestured to the boy hovering uncomfortably in the doorway and Eric’s heart skipped a little in his chest. He’d only ever seen Jack from a distance, watching games up in the bleachers with his mother, and seeing him in person was worlds different. He wasn’t just a generically muscular dude scurrying around the field; Eric could see how _handsome_ he was. All the guys on Coach’s team had nice bodies, and it was something he’d just kind of tuned into radio static a long time ago because usually their faces were generic and their eyes skipped right over Eric once it was clear he wasn’t one of them. Jack’s face was beautiful though, with high cheekbones and pink lips, his big nose looking perfectly suited to sit below intense blue eyes. His hair was a bit of a scruffy mess, but coupled with the roundness of his flushed cheeks it just made him look sweet.

“Sure thing!” He held out his hand to Jack. “Eric Bittle, nice to meet you.” Jack seemed relieved to know his place in the conversation again, and almost smiled as he shook Eric’s hand.

“Nice to meet you too. Jack Zimmermann.” He pulled back and scratched at the back of his head, before adding, “Um, your dad talks about you a lot.” Eric shot Coach a look.

“Oh he does, does he?” Coach held up his hands in surrender,

“What? A man can’t be proud of his son? I didn’t break out the baby pictures or nothing, I just told ‘em about your medals.” Eric let out a relieved _whew_!

“Sorry Coach, you know Mama has me paranoid about that. You remember when she posted the spaghetti picture on Facebook for my birthday?” Jack chuckled a little at that.

“At least you only have the one baby photo out there, eh? Could be worse - my mother has an entire album of them up.” 

“See? Your parents aren’t the only embarrassing ones out there,” Coach said. “Now let’s get a move on, dinner outghtta be ready to hit the table any minute now.” Jack and Bitty loitered in the hallway while Coach got his bag together and locked up the office.

“So you’re the amazing new quarterback I’ve been hearing so much about?” Eric asked him, leaning against the trophy case opposite Jack who blushed at the compliment.

“Yeah - euh, well, I’m new anyway.”

“Welcome to Samwell.”

“Thanks. It seems like a great place so far. The team’s good guys.”

Coach came out of his office, bag slung over his shoulder, turning the bolt on the door before he let it slam shut behind him.

“Let’s hit the road.”

Eric left the top 40 station on low as he drove, nodding along as Coach filled him in on how the team had been looking at practice, tossing a couple questions at Jack, asking him what he’d thought from the field. Jack was already Eric’s favorite of all the players he’d had to welcome into his home over the years. Back in Georgia, the boys on Coach’s team never liked him because he was _weird_ for a boy and especially for the son of a southern football coach. Then when they moved up north to Samwell at the start of his freshman year, he’d just been too young for them to take him seriously. Once, a linebacker had _ruffled his hair_ and then had the nerve to look shocked when Eric scowled and informed him that he was fifteen. Jack was polite, if somewhat awkward, and he hadn’t talked to Eric like he was a child. What a nice young man.

“What a nice young man,” Suzanne gushed as soon as the door had shut behind Jack when Coach went to drive him home. “Don’t you think so, Dicky?” She turned to Eric, up to his elbows in dishwater, a strange smile on her face.

“Mother, don’t you even think about it, he is _years_ older than me!”

“I didn’t mean anything by it!” She defended, hand pressed to her chest. “I’m old enough to be his mother, there is nothing wrong with admitting that he’s nice.”

“Alright, fine. Jack seems like a good guy. Happy?” Suzanne picked up the dish towel and started drying the dishes on the drainer. 

“It doesn’t matter to me what you think of him.”

“Then why’d you ask?”

“No reason, I was just curious.”

“You were fishin’,” he accused, pausing his scrubbing to point a finger at his mother. “Mama, I am not stupid. I’m not gonna go gettin’ a crush on a grown-ass man. Especially not one who’s probably straight.” Suzanne sighed, twisting the dish towel around her hand. 

“I know, I know. It’s just - Well you know, if you _did_ have feelings - for anyone! - you can come to me. You know that, right?” 

“No, Mama, of course not,” he drawled, bumping her with his hip playfully. “When you hung that pride flag on the porch, I had _no_ idea that was a gesture of support.” She laughed, swatting at him with the towel.

“Where did all of this sass come from? Who raised you like that?” Eric wrapped his arms around his mother’s waist and ducked enough to rest his head on her shoulder like he did when he was a little kid, blinking up at her innocently.

“You brought this on yourself.” 

“I sure did,” she agreed happily, wrapping her arms around his back and squeezing tight.

“And, um…” Eric cleared his throat, stepping back from the hug. “While we’re on the subject of, you know, boys…”

“Yeees?”

“I was wondering if I could take the car on Friday?” Suzanne raised an eyebrow at him, arms folded. “Um, Philip from GSA asked me to go to a movie.” A smile crept across her face, and Eric had to hold himself back from rolling his eyes at how smug she looked.

“Well honey, you know the deal. The truck is yours to use as much as you want as long as you keep your grades up and help with the groceries.” Eric’s mouth went slack a little bit.

“Y’all were serious about that?”

“Of course honey, it’s been sitting in the garage since we moved. Have at it.” Bitty squealed a little bit and hugged his mother again.

When Friday rolled around, Eric showered, styled his hair, and pulled on his favorite jeans with a button down that he’d always thought suited him especially nicely. His father called goodbye from the office where he was sequestered away watching tape and told him to have a good time. He kissed his mother on the cheek on his way out to the garage through the kitchen, careful to avoid getting flour on his nice clothes.

“Good luck, sweetheart. Let me know when you get there and when you’re headed home, okay?”

“Will do. Love you.”

“Love you too, baby.” 

The truck was older than Eric, maybe old enough to be called antique actually. Coach had had the thing forever, and there were a few spots of rust around the wheel wells that would have to be dealt with, but the leather on the seats had been replaced and it didn’t smell like PBR and cigars as his mother assured him it had back in college. (“I made him promise to clean it top to bottom if he expected a second date.”) He wasn’t worried about it though. Basically any car that didn’t have to be shared with at least one sibling was considered pretty cool at their age.

When he showed up at Philip’s house and rang the doorbell, he put his parent face on, getting ready to introduce himself, but instead Philip just slipped out the door, calling over his shoulder, 

“Eric’s here, I’m leaving! Kisses!” As soon as the latch clicked shut behind him, Philip looked at him with wide eyes and a nervous smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Eric said, smiling back. 

“Let’s get out of here, shall we?” Eric nodded and took Philip’s hand when it was offered. He led him around to the passenger side door and popped it open for him before getting in on the driver’s side. He backed out of the driveway at a glacial pace to make sure he didn’t clip the mailbox or the bushes and breathed a sigh of relief when he was back on the road.

“So what’s this movie supposed to be about?” Eric asked Philip. The only movie theater in Samwell was the tiny one that only showed the kind of movies that were called “films” and had lots of subtitles or actors nobody had ever heard of.

“It’s supposed to be a love story?” Philip told him. “Set in the fifties. In France. Very romantic,” he promised.

“That sounds beautiful.” Eric smiled at him as he came to a stop at a light, and wished he could take one of his hands off the steering wheel to hold Philip’s again, but the way Philip looked back at him made him pretty sure he wouldn’t have to wait long once they got out of the truck.

Sure enough, Philip took Eric’s hand again as they walked through the parking lot towards the theater. Philip grabbed their tickets while Eric got their snacks. His favorite part of the art theater was that they had a full coffee bar, so he could get a mocha to go with his M&Ms and green tea for Philip’s Junior Mints. Eric met Philip as he was getting out of line at the box office and they headed upstairs to their theater. They picked seats up high near the back and settled in, shrugging off coats and wrapping their hands around warm cups. Eric nudged his arm up onto the shared armrest beside Philip’s and when Philip looked over at him, he said, 

“I’m really glad you asked me out tonight.”

“I’m really glad I did too,” Philip said, leaning in and kissing Eric’s cheek. The last thing Eric saw before the lights went down was the mischievous grin on Philip’s face.

Eric really only focused in on the movie in bits and pieces. For one, the whole movie was in French, so he had to read subtitles to keep up. For another, Philip seemed intent on distracting him: playing with his fingers, resting a hand on Eric’s thigh when he’d let go to open his candy. He missed the epilogue entirely because at the big dramatic kiss on screen, Eric had turned to kiss Philip on the cheek and gotten his mouth instead. They stayed lip-locked until the lights came back up and burned against their eyelids.

They headed down the stairs together until the aisle was blocked by a familiar figure.

“Jack?” Eric asked, and the man startled, but when he turned, it was in fact Jack Zimmermann, who rearranged his surprise into a smile.

“Hey, Bittle.” Jack scowled down at the guy still sleeping in his chair, head tipped back, totally asleep.

“I see your friend really enjoyed the movie.”

“Oh, he was riveted.” He gave the guy’s shoulder a final rough shake before rolling his eyes at the lack of response and pinching his friend’s nose. With a snort, the guy woke in a fit of flailing limbs and wild hair, eyes wide. Jack let go of his face and with a shake of his head, the guy seemed to get with the picture.

“Jesus motherfuckin’ Christ, Jack.”

“You fell asleep.”

“You couldn’t have woken me up like a normal person?”

“For the record,” Eric chimed in, “He tried. You were pretty dead to the world.”

“Fuck.” The guy stood up, stretching his arms over his head. “I get to pick the movie next time, you always pick boring shit. It’s my turn.” Jack shrugged, hands in his pockets.

“What can I say, it’s more interesting if you _actually watch it_.” Stood just behind Eric, Philip cleared his throat and leaned around his date to say,

“Hi! Um, I’m Philip.”

“Oh!” Eric flushed a little. “Where on Earth are my manners. Jack, this is Philip, Philip, this is Jack and…” he gestured at the other guy, who shook Philip’s hand enthusiastically and introduced himself as,

“B. S. Knight at your service, but everybody calls me Shitty.” Philip laughed at that.

“Nice to meet you, Shitty. You too, Jack.” Jack nodded and said,

“Nice to meet you too.” He tugged at Shitty’s arm to get him moving down the stairs as the theater employees started working through the aisles to sweep up fallen popcorn. The four of them headed downstairs in a line, and Shitty looked back at Eric and Philip and asked,

“So, what’re you kids up to now?”

“Oh, um.” Eric looked to Philip, who shrugged back at him. “We were probably gonna go home? Didn’t really have plans past this.”

“Perfect!” Shitty said. “Jack and I are headed over to Jerry’s for night breakfast. You guys should come with us.” Jack shot Shitty a look over his shoulder.

“Don’t feel like you have to,” he told Eric. “You’re welcome to, but if you’ve got curfew or you don’t want us crashing your date…”

“I’m game,” Philip said. “If you’re good to go, Eric?” His curfew was only an hour away, but if he texted mama and said they were going out with Jack…

“It should be fine. Mama probably won’t mind me being late if we’re with Jack. She thinks he’s a ‘very nice young man’,” Eric teased. Jack shook his head.

“You can just say I’m boring,” he told Eric. “I’m fully aware that I’m that friend.” 

“Oh come on, you _are_ nice. Let’s get a move on though, I can’t be _too_ late, no matter how well-supervised I am.”

Eric and Philip climbed back into the truck and followed Shitty’s old hatchback to Jerry’s, the streetlights illuminating their faces in flashes as they drove down Main Street.

“So, how do you know those guys?” Philip asked. 

“Oh, I haven’t met Shitty before, but Jack’s come over for dinner a couple times. He’s the new quarterback for Samwell.”

“Where’s he from? He sounds French, but like...I think their football is supposed to be different, right?”

“He’s Canadian. Montreal. Apparently they have football up there?” Eric shrugged. “Jack was very surprised to hear that I didn’t know that, but as far as Coach has been concerned, there’s no team worth watching north of the Vikings. And even then, just barely.” Philip laughed. 

“They seem nice. You know, for jocks.” Eric hummed in agreement.

The boys occupied a booth in the back corner of the restaurant that was apparently the football team’s regular spot.

“We try to keep out of the way,” Jack explained. “The team can be a bit...rowdy.”

“Who’re you callin’ rowdy?” Shitty protested, putting on an affronted look.

“The guy who got half the team banned from Annie’s.”

“Y’all got banned from Annie’s?” Eric asked, glancing up from his phone where he was texting Mama to make sure it was okay if he was out late.

“ _I_ didn’t,” Jack said. “But somebody knocked down their sign with a football and they banned them. And I had to go apologize on behalf of the team. I get the sense that’s going to be one of my main jobs as captain.”

“Hey, better you than Coach. If y’all piss him off, I get extra chores.” Eric’s phone chirped with a reply from his mom: _have fun baby! Drive safe and turn the porch light off when you get in, i’m going up to bed._ He sent her a quick goodnight and pocketed the phone again.

They lingered over pancakes and coffee for a while, Shitty doing most of the talking, until Jack started yawning and asked their waitress for the bill. Eric and Philip tried to protest letting Jack and Shitty pay for their food, but they just waved them off. 

“You were our guests, brah.” Shitty told them. “And besides, I’ll probably just ask Bitty here to be my Annie’s mule to make it up to me.” He winked at Eric, and Jack rolled his eyes.

“You don’t have to enable him,” Jack said. “Feel free to just let him learn his lesson.”

“I didn’t throw the ball!” Shitty argued.

“No, but I know you egged whoever it was on. I just know it.”

“Rude.”

They parted ways shortly after, Jack and Shitty headed back to the dorms, and Eric and Philip headed home. Eric rolled carefully down the long driveway in front of Philip’s house, but slammed on the brakes when Philip’s hand shot out and grabbed his arm.

“Sorry!” Philip said, letting go quickly. Eric caught his breath from the sudden scare, and smiled, a little tight, but meant to be reassuring.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Just still a little nervous about driving in the dark. What’s up?”

“Pull over there,” Philip told him, pointing at a break in the trees with two ruts in the dirt. He was smiling like he had a secret, and Eric found himself nodding, cutting the wheel as he released the brake. He stopped the truck when they reached the end of the path. The only thing out there was a pop-up trailer folded down for the end of the season and a couple of kayaks.

“What did you want -” Philip cut off Eric’s question with a kiss. “Oh.”

“This okay with you?” Eric nodded, reaching for the collar of Philip’s shirt to pull him back in. Their noses kept smushing awkwardly, and there was a little too much tongue, and their teeth clacked together, but it felt good anyway. Philip’s fingers dipped under Eric’s t-shirt, and he pulled his lips away, leaving them both gasping. “Do you actually have abs?” Philip asked. “Like, visibly? Or am I crazy?” Eric blushed, shoulders creeping towards his ears, but a grin spreading across his lips in spite of the embarrassment.

“Figure skating’s pretty rigorous,” he said, in lieu of actually giving an answer, but Philip saw through the modesty and grinned right back at him, pressing their foreheads together.

“That’s hot.” A laugh bubbled up and out of Eric, who hid his face in Philip’s neck until both of their giggles subsided. When they untangled from each other’s arms, Eric chanced a glance at the dashboard clock, and sighed. “Oh no, don’t say it,” Philip pleaded halfheartedly.

“I really gotta get going. It’s late, and I have to meet Katya at the rink for seven tomorrow.” Philip sighed. 

“Yeah, I’ve already kept you too long then.”

“I had a really good time though.” He leaned over and kissed him one more time. “We’ll have to do this again sometime.”

“Text me. When you get home and just, like, in general.” Eric nodded and put the truck back in gear. He backed out to the driveway again and dropped Philip off in front of his house, watching until he waved from the front window to head home himself.

When he got home, Eric found he couldn’t stop smiling and his cheeks didn’t even ache from the effort. As he headed up the front stairs, he remembered to text Philip.

_I’m home! Sweet dreams :) <3_

He flicked the porch light off and filled the coffee maker in preparation of the absurdly early morning waiting for him. 


	2. Senior Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric Bittle's unfortunate senior prom.

Eric bit his lip nervously, turning his phone over and over in his hand. He looked down at the message he had typed out again.

 _Hey is it weird if i ask your opinion on my prom outfit?_ It felt weird but he thought that could just be him. After all, he and Philip had agreed to stay friends after Philip went away to college and they broke up. They had even talked somewhat frequently over the semester, but about innocent things. School, their old friends in town, what the weather out in California was like. Neither of them had brought up moving on, but if they were actually going to be friends long term, it was going to have to happen eventually. Eric hit Send. It only took a couple minutes before the bubbles that indicated Philip typing showed up, followed shortly by a reply.

_Eh, maybe a little but whatev. I’m cool with it._

_Thanks :)_

Eric smoothed the front of the suit jacket one more time and took a deep breath before letting himself smile and snapping a picture in the dressing room mirror. He attached it to a new message and said: _Be brutal, if I wanted compliments I’d ask mama._ The next reply came after a few moments of consideration.

 _Tbh, that suit makes me want to take your virginity all over again. Do the world a favor and get it._ Eric felt a pang of longing, remembering when he and Philip had gone to get their tuxes for Philip’s senior prom the year before and they’d ended up making out in the dressing room. He still laughed though, imagining the exaggerated leer Philip would’ve given him if he was there.

_Alright, I’m convinced. You’re the best! :-*_

_Give Mama a hug for me! Xoxoxo_

_Will do! <3_

Eric put his phone down on top of the pile of his clothes and stepped out from behind the curtain. When Mama saw him, she pressed a hand to her chest.

“Oh Dicky, you look so _handsome_!” He smiled and told her,

“Definitely this one.”

* * *

 

Waiting by the front door, Eric fussed with his bowtie restlessly while he waited for his date to arrive. He hadn’t met Bryan in person yet, though they’d been texting for a few weeks. It was technically a blind date, set up by, of all people, two of coach’s backup linebackers. The duo called themselves Ransom and Holster, and had become inseparable at training camp back in August. By the back-to-school barbeque, they had started to be referenced in one breath as RansomandHolster. They had also taken Bitty under their incredibly large wings.

 

Part of having what amounted to two enthusiastic older brothers slash best friends apparently entailed having guaranteed dates for any and all social functions. So when prom season came around and Eric was still single, they took it upon themselves to find him a date. Ransom, who had apparently friended the entire freshman class of Samwell as well as a good part of the senior classes of both Marsh High School and James Madison High, had plopped himself down on the Bittles’ couch with his laptop and started scrolling through his Facebook and reading off the names of eligible young ladies.

Eric had clammed up in the face of such enthusiasm but Rans didn’t get far through the list before Holster nudged him and waved his hand in a slicing motion in front of his neck, shaking his head. Ransom ground to a halt and clicked a few times to a new tab and started reading again, instead listing guys’ names and accompanying descriptions.

“Stop me anytime, Bits,” he prompted after the first five.

“Um, the rower sounds nice?”

“Excellent choice!” Holster proclaimed, and Rans nodded along.

“Great arms, not too tall, high calorie diet. Ideal partner for our itty bitty baker.” Holster gasped.

“Broooooo, you totally got it!”

“What?”

“Eric’s totally sw’awesome nickname! Bittle, Bitty? Dude, it’s perfect.”

“Noice,” Ransom agreed, nodding and bumping Holster’s fist.

“Bitty?” Eric asked, arms crossed over his chest. “Y’all expect me to answer to Bitty?”

“It’ll grow on ya,” Holster assured him.

Ransom promptly distracted them both by announcing, “Messaging rower dude now, operation Get Bitty a Prom Date commenced.” It was honestly a little spooky how quickly Ransom was able to message Bryan, get a response, and have Bitty’s phone lighting up with a friend request quickly followed by a message that read,

**hey your profile pics even cuter than justin said**

And just like that, Eric - _Bitty’s_ last semester of high school was off and running.

* * *

 

“Dicky, are you alright?” Mama asked, coming downstairs with her digital camera in hand, worried crease between her eyebrows.

“Yeah, Mama I’m fine. Just...excited.” Eric stopped fussing with the bowtie. Mama tucked the camera in her cardigan pocket and come over to fix his tie herself.

“Oh baby, you just look so handsome. I wish your Moomaw could be up here to see you off, she’d love this.”

“Mama, it’s just the prom. It’s really not a big deal.”

“Well you know how your grandmother fussed over your older cousins when they went to their senior proms.”

“Yes, and it is one of the hundreds of reasons I’m grateful that you and Coach moved us up North.” Headlights flashed over the front windows of the house, cascading shadows across the room. “And here comes another reason.” Mama laughed and went to fetch the boutonnieres from the fridge where she’d been keeping them fresh. Bryan had come by himself, apparently his mother had gotten a sufficient number of pictures of him in a tux at his own senior prom the previous month. Suzanne definitely fussed enough for two mothers and maybe Moomaw too, directing them in what was essentially a full-fledged photoshoot.

“Wait wait wait!” She called, making Eric pause just before he could pin the flower onto Bryan’s lapel. “Hold that! No honey, don’t look at me, look at Bryan! Don’t twist your face up like that. Good!” And

“Oh oh oh! One on the stairs; we need one on the stairs!” And

“Richard! Get in here the boys are leaving for the prom!...Oh honey no you can’t be in the pictures dressed like that, go put on a nice shirt real quick. _Yes_ I am serious, these pictures are forever! Don’t - Oh good Lord what am I going to do with you boys?”

When she finally let them go, Bryan looked a little uncomfortable, tugging at his shirt collar as he slid into the driver’s seat of his car.

“I am so sorry about her,” Eric apologized. “She just gets all excited whenever there’s an occasion to dress up.”

“Yeah, no it’s cool. When I went with my friends all our moms went nuts, it was so annoying.”

“Well I try to indulge her a little, I mean she _is_ my mama. And she’s my best friend, ya know? So I just want to make sure she’s happy.”

“Your mom’s your best friend? That’s...cool, I guess.” Bryan tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, looking out at the road. Eric turned forward to look out the windshield as well.

“Yeah.”

* * *

 

The prom itself was pretty nice. It was being held in a restaurant in downtown Samwell that used to be a mill building. There were incandescent bulbs dangling from the ceiling and lots of exposed pipe and brick, old wide-plank wood floors. After the students voted Emilio’s as the venue the prom committee had surveyed the space and decided to make it a steampunk theme, which yielded...interesting results. There were a lot of vintage suits and dresses that had clearly been meticulously thrifted by members of the drama and history clubs. A few people had broken out their old stovepipe hats from fourth grade Abraham Lincoln projects, and the prom committee had spray painted the edges of dollar-store swim goggles as party favors. There were functionless gears stuck just about anywhere you could imagine. As centerpiece, cardboard tubes painted like industrial pipes spilled “steam” from dry ice they’d acquired courtesy of the Samwell chemistry department.

Eric let Sammi from homeroom push a pair of sparkly goggles on him. He put them up on top of his head to keep from getting awful rings stamped around his eyes, only to find that they shoved his bangs up in a ridiculous puff of blonde hair.

“How do I look?” He asked Bryan, tossing his head a little to make the puff of hair wiggle around. Bryan laughed and declined Sammi’s offer of a matching pair of goggles.

“You look pretty ridiculous.”

“Well that seems to be the point,” Eric said, waving to his classmates, most of whom were dressed much more elaborately than a pair of shiny goggles and a suit.

“Really, I’m good. The theme was a nice effort, but not my thing.”

“Alright, suit yourself. Let’s go grab some punch or something.” Bryan took his hand to walk over to the punch bowl, and Eric allowed himself to think that maybe that was a good sign. Maybe he was shy? Relax, Bittle. They each ladled themselves a cup of what looked to be Hawaiian Punch with some orange slices tossed in for garnish, and headed for the table that had been commandeered by Eric’s friends from the journalism club. “Hey, y’all! This is my date, Bryan. Bryan, this is Cameron, Deja, Sihua, and Josh. They’re all on the e-board for the school news blog.”

“Cool, cool. I think my school has a newspaper.”

“And that’s precisely why we went digital,” Josh said. “Before us, nobody even knew the paper _existed_. It was just, like, a sad tumbleweed you saw crushed up in the hallway and in the school library archives.”

“The journalism club was basically a cryptid,” Deja put in. “There was always a yearbook photo and there were always meeting announcements, but yet nobody could claim to have actually read an issue.”

“Until when we were Freshmen,” Bitty explained, “the seniors on the e-board decided to stop wasting the budget printing papers nobody was reading and instead built a website and just started posting articles on there. They kept sharing the posts on their personal social media accounts and people kept reading them without realizing they were the school paper until they realized the articles were all about our school.”

“And so a legend was born.”

“Bitty runs a cooking vlog out of the home-ec classroom to teach people how not to be sad, underfed college students.”

“Sihua runs the advice column, Josh does our featured hard-hitting investigative pieces, Deja does lifestyle stuff -”

“Meaning I review the school play and all the shitty garage bands, plus whatever restaurant opened for the next few months in the perpetually abandoned old theater on Main Street.” Bryan laughed.

“Hey, that’s still way cooler than anything we’ve got at Marsh.” He downed the last of the punch as the song changed, and turned to Eric. “Wanna go shake it?”’

“Only always,” Deja jumped in for him. “Get going, I’ve been looking forward to this _all_ year.”

“I take it you’ve got some moves?”

“Sweetheart, my depths are hidden and _spectacular_.”

Just how spectacular his depths were had to wait for the afterparty, however. Because while his teachers up north didn’t care if he danced with boys, or even kissed the boy in question a few times, they were in fact there to chaperone and therefore couldn’t reasonably let the dancefloor devolve into an ersatz nightclub.

* * *

 

That particular part of the night was saved for Sammi’s living room. Her older sister was supposed to be watching her while their parents were out of town, but she had ever so kindly agreed to be out at one of the Samwell football team’s infamous kegsters in the hours immediately following the Madison high prom. As soon as she’d been crowned prom queen and danced with the king, she ducked out with the members of the prom committee who hadn’t also volunteered for cleanup crew and headed back to her house to start setting up.

By the time Eric and Bryan got there, almost the entire junior class had packed themselves into the poor Victorian, teenagers spilling out onto the porch and into the backyard pool if the sounds of splashing and screaming were any indication. There was another (much stronger smelling) punch bowl on the kitchen island, which had been turned into the bar for the occasion. Bryan headed for that, dunking a solo cup from the leaning stack beside it.

“You do know that’s basically Jungle Juice, right?” Eric warned. “I think it’s taking the paint off the cabinets as we speak.” Bryan took a sip, eyes crinkling at the corners, belying the smirk he was hiding behind the drink.

“Don’t worry, Mom. I can handle myself. You want a cup?”

“Well, suit yourself, but I have places to be tomorrow so I’m gonna take a pass.” Eric rummaged around in the cooler at his feet and pulled out a hard lemonade. He poured it into his cup and added some iced tea from the mixers section. “If I’m so hungover I can’t pass for just tired, my mama will tan my hide.”

“You southerners and your weird expressions. It’s so cute.” He stepped closer to Eric and wrapped his free arm around his waist. “Come on, let’s go _really_ dance. No chaperones.” Eric felt a flush creep up the back of his neck, but he nodded.

“Let’s show ‘em how it’s done.”

They took their drinks back to the living room where somebody had set up speakers and the student council treasurer was playing “DJ” since he was apparently the only one around with decent taste in music and no ads on his Spotify account. The next song came on strong with low, heavy bass and Bryan plastered himself to Eric’s back as soon as they merged into the crowd, rolling his hips against Eric’s ass. It made Eric’s face burn, even as his body moved to the music of its own accord. He wasn’t kidding earlier that he was a good dancer, that he liked to dance, but the last time he was grinding on somebody, it was Philip. At a pre-season kegster that Shitty had invited them to at the football Haus, laughing and a little sunburnt, not drunk because the guys felt ethically weird about getting the coach’s kid schwastey. Everything had been hot and bright and wonderful.

In contrast, Sammi’s living room floor was already getting sticky with spilled drinks, and Eric had to move quickly to avoid getting a splash of Bryan’s awful mystery drink on his shirt when somebody jostled them. The smell of the alcohol on Bryan’s breath was sickeningly sweet, and Eric was a little relieved when the cup went empty and Bryan told him,

“I’m going for a refill, you need more?”

“Vodka cranberry please,” Eric smiled and handed his empty cup over. Maybe he just needed to loosen up more. He’d been with Philip so long, it was probably just that moving on still felt weird. Bryan was cute and nice from what Eric could tell. By all rights, they should get along famously. Eric briefly found himself sandwiched between Sihua and Cam, who had taken to reenacting Night at the Roxbury with everyone they encountered. He was nearly doubled over with laughter when Bryan returned, looking at them in bewildered amusement. Eric took his drink with a smile and allowed himself to be pulled back to his date, waggling his fingers at his friends as they bopped off to harass Deja.

The night wore on, Eric stashing his suit jacket in the hall closet and letting his bowtie hang loose from his collar, buttons slowly making their way undone as the temperature in the livingroom rose with every drink. He knew he was heading for the drunken side of tipsy and started slowing his sips, turned down the next offer of a refill. Bryan on the other hand was pretty trashed after matching Eric drink for drink with whatever noxious concoction was in the cooler. He swayed on his feet and his dancing was more awkward, as though he was suddenly back in middle school and unsure of how to control his limbs. Eventually, Eric decided that it was probably more of a risk to the surrounding dancers to let him stay on the dancefloor and he needed to get him at least decently sobered up so he could - shit.

There was no way for them to get Bryan’s car home. Eric was way more sober but he’d never be good enough to drive in time to get them back. They’d have to hitch a ride with Deja in her minivan. Eric would bake her an entire strawberry pie in thanks. But he should definitely try to get Bryan to dry out a little bit more before they tried to take him home in case his parents were waiting up.

“You know,” Eric said in the lull between songs. “I’m getting pretty tired, why don’t we step outside for some air?” Bryan nodded and allowed himself to be toted along like a ragdoll until they reached the front door. “Oh how nice, there’s a porch swing. Why don’t we go sit out there?” Eric pushed open the screen door and stepped outside. Stumbling on the doorframe, Bryan followed, almost pitching headfirst down the stairs, but Eric caught him by the belt.

“Whoa,” he said, straightening up slowly. His cheeks were ominously pale and going green.

“Um, are you okay?” Bryan mulled it over for a moment, then shook his head quickly before doubling over and emptying the contents of his stomach all over Eric’s shoes. “Oh lord.” Eric looked up to the roof. “Oh god no.” But yes. There was hot boozy liquid seeping in the lace holes.

“Oh god,” Bryan mumbled. He wiped his mouth on the back of his shirt. “Ohhhh that was terrible. What the fuck? Jesus was there fucking kerosene in that? God that burned.” He then promptly hunched over the railing and proceeded to heave into the poor begonias below.

Everything was so suddenly too much. His date was puking, his shoes were a mess, his suit jacket and friends were still all inside and he didn’t know what to do. He wanted his mother to come to him, clean him up the way she would when he was a child, but he couldn’t. He was drunk at a party and so were all his friends, and his mother could never know. He opened his phone and started scrolling through his text threads. He called Deja, the DD for the journalism club, but got voicemail. He called Cam, but when he picked up they couldn’t hear each other and all he got was “GET IT, ERIC!”

His eyes had caught on the thread below Cam next: Jack Zimmermann. It was stupid and desperate to hope. The football team was having a party too, for all he knew Jack was in no state to come and save him. Or more probably asleep already. And he probably wouldn’t want to help Eric anyway. Sure they were friends, but coming to the other side of town in the middle of the night to bail him out of an awful date was a pretty tall order. But hey, he really was desperate and pretty well full of liquid courage, so he dialed the number.

The voice that answered was slurred from sleep and grasping at captainly composure but landing somewhere around half-panicked anyway.

“Bittle? Bittle, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Jack, hi. Um, I’m fine?”

“You don’t sound sure. It’s the middle of the night.”

“Well I’m not great but it’s not an emergency? I do kind of need help though.”

“What’s going on? Where are you?”

“I’m at an after prom party. Uh, my date’s really drunk.”

“What kind of drunk? Are you in trouble?”

“No! No, just um. He puked on my shoes.” Eric glanced behind him to check on Bryan quickly. “And now he’s asleep on the porch swing. I just - I really don’t feel like being at this party anymore. My date soiled Sammi’s garden, my socks are all gross, and I’m not sober enough to be dealing with this. I really want my mom to come and fix it but I can’t call my mother drunk and I don’t know what else to do.” By the time he was finished, his eyes were burning and his vision was blurring and he was so _angry_. At Bryan for being a disaster, at Philip for leaving, but mostly at himself for crying on the phone with Jack Zimmermann.

“Bittle? Bittle. Can you hear me?” Jack was speaking gently, soothing.

“Yeah,” he felt his cheeks burning in shame at the cracks in his voice, embarrassed that Jack was having to coddle him.

“Alright. I’m going to come and get you okay? There’s still a party going on downstairs so I have to hang up, but when I do, text me the address you’re at. I’ll be right there, I promise.”

“Okay, I will. Thank you Jack, thank you so much.”

“It’s no problem, Bittle.” The line went dead. Dutifully, Eric copied over the address from Sammi’s invite and then sat down on the steps to wait for his rescuer.

He looked up at the sound of a car coming to a stop in front of the house, and sure enough, there was Jack, climbing out of Shitty’s awful hatchback. When he came around the hood and started up the front steps, Eric’s heart jumped in his chest. Jack was dressed in soft-looking plaid pajama pants and a faded Habs t-shirt that looked just a tad too big for him. A pair of wire-rim reading glasses were perched on top of messy hair, and he was wearing honest-to-God slippers on his feet. Basically, he looked like somebody’s dad rolled out of bed, but on Jack it looked adorable.

“Hey.” Jack greeted him. Eric scrambled to his feet and looked up at Jack.

“Hey! Hi, um. Thanks again, oh my lord, I’m so embarrassed. I can’t believe I dragged you out of bed for -”

“Bittle.” Jack’s hand landed on his shoulder, warm and so big his thumb spanned across Eric’s collarbone easily. “It’s okay. I’ve got your back.” He held up a matching pair of slippers in his other hand. “I’ve also got your feet.” Eric briefly contemplated crying again, and perhaps working in a marriage proposal because there was absolutely nothing in the world that would could make him happier than the chance to not be wearing his gross barfy shoes for another minute. Instead he just said,

“Jack Zimmermann, you are my hero.”

“It’s no big deal. Shits probably won’t miss ‘em. Especially if he knows his slippers are saving his favorite future Wellie.” Eric took the slippers and stepped out of his dress shoes. Scuffs be damned, he couldn’t bear to touch the soggy laces. He ditched his socks too for good measure and sighed as his feet sank into the fluffy soles. “Better?”

“So much,” he sighed, closing his eyes in bliss.

“Good. So, where’s this date of yours? And your jacket?”

“Oh. Darn, I forgot about that. Um. Well, date is over there.” He pointed to Bryan, snoring on the porch swing. “And I left my jacket in the coat closet.” Jack contemplated Bryan for a moment before apparently deciding he wasn’t an issue and dismissing him.

“Alright, I’ll come with you and help you find your jacket. Then we’ll stuff him in the backseat and get him home.” This must be the kind of intensity Coach was always talking about with Jack.

“So when we get inside, you grab the jacket at the snap and then I’ll go long?” Jack blushed, which, while not Eric’s intention, was certainly a lovely surprise.

“Keep it simple, Bittle. Although I don’t think I’d mind punting that guy,” he nodded at Bryan.

“You and me both.”

When Jack stepped into the house behind Eric, the noise around them started to die down, confused silence following them through the living room to the closet. He heard classmates yelling over the music,

“Who’s the old guy?”

“Shit, is he a teacher?”

“Is that someone’s dad?”

“Fuck, are we busted?”

“Hot damn!”

Jack pretty studiously ignored the last one, but Eric couldn’t help laughing when Jack grumbled, “ _Dad_? Jesus, what’s wrong with these kids? I’m not _that_ old! Certainly not old enough to be anyone’s _dad_.” Eric grabbed his coat and patted Jack on the arm.

“Well _I_ think your dad glasses make you look distinguished.”

Jack handed Eric the keys to unlock Shitty’s car and hefted Bryan like a sack of flour. While he held the door to the backseat open, Jack wrestled Eric’s groggy date into the seat and buckled him in, then jostled him until he woke up enough to focus on Jack’s face.

“Hey man, you got way too drunk. I’m taking you home. And when you wake up, you owe Eric an apology.”

Eric climbed into the passenger seat and pulled up Bryan’s address on Maps, letting Siri guide Jack as the three of them rode to the next town over in silence. When they got to Bryan’s house, Jack got out of the car again, gesturing for Eric to wait behind. He helped Bryan stumble up the front walk and took his keys to let him in the front door, leaving him to his own devices after he got inside.

“Well,” Jack sighed, settling back behind the wheel. “That was a pretty terrible date.”

“Ya think so? I dunno, I was thinking a summer wedding.” Jack chuckled and put the car in drive again.

“And I am thinking pancakes. C’mon, let’s go hit Jerry’s.”


	3. Freshman Year Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty starts his first year at Samwell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I broke this part up because it was getting way too long and it had been a million years since I updated this fic, so here you go!

“Y’all go on and get now, I have orientation in the morning,” Eric scolded the lumbering football players clogging up his teeny dorm room. His roommate, a perfectly nice seeming boy from Oregon, had disappeared shortly after the team’s arrival, and Eric couldn’t blame him.

“Fuck orientation,” Holster dismissed. “You’ve been chilling with us for a year, what more do you need to know about the college experience?” Eric put his hands on his hips.

“Maybe some people from my actual class?”

“Pft, whatever. Rans and Shitty are gonna be in school forever with their majors; you’ll have plenty of people to do senior year with.” Ransom made himself comfortable with Shitty on Eric’s bed.

“That’s right, brah,” Shitty agreed, welcoming the snuggles. “You’ll never be rid of us.”

“Graduation is a myth,” Ransom added gravely. “And bro, you can make all the friends you want. You’re a freshman with invites already lined up for the sickest kegsters of the year.”

“If you do say so yourself,” Eric huffed. “I admit, you boys make a strong argument, but I shudder to think what your fearless leader has to say about y’all encouraging me to shirk responsibility like this.” He turned to the man in question only to find him twisting back and forth in the desk chair, nibbling on one of the peanut butter cookies Mrs. Bittle had sent to thank the boys for carrying all of “Dicky’s” boxes.

“Um.” Jack looked between his friends, who were watching him expectantly. He swallowed. “Well, I mean, I was gonna ask if you wanted to hang out tomorrow since it’s the last day before classes.”

“Jack!” Eric cried over the boys’ boisterous cheers. “You’re supposed to be the responsible adult here!” Jack shrugged, tiny smile playing at his lips and winning Eric over easily.

“Well...they really don’t teach you anything useful…”

“So you figure you can talk me into another day of nonsense with this lot?”

“Was kinda hoping.”

“Well I _suppose_ I could be persuaded to give up an afternoon of icebreakers and forced socialization.”

“Good. I hear Annie’s has their Pumpkin Spice Lattes out early this year. And the art theater is screening Goonies, so we were thinking of hitting that too.”

“How can I say no to that then?”

“Just meet us at the Haus at eleven tomorrow.”

“I’ll come at ten and we’ll make breakfast.”

“Deal.” Eric nodded. “Alright boys,” Jack said to the room at large, “let’s clear out, we scared Bittle’s roommate out long enough.” The boys all stood and followed Jack to the door, leaving Eric with hair ruffles and back pats. Jack held his hand in a wave as he followed the end of the parade into the hallway, closing the door behind them. Eric sat down hard on the bed, grinning broadly.

* * *

 

“Eric Richard Bittle, what on _Earth_ do you mean you don’t know what happened at orientation?” Mrs. Bittle demanded over dinner - she’d made her son’s favorites to lure him home for a meal to extract details. Eric stopped picking at his mashed potatoes and exchanged a panicked glance with his father over the rim of the sweet tea glass Coach was using to avoid having to chime in.

“Uh...Jack said it’s stupid? And the guys were going to see Goonies?”

“Jack said, hmm? And I suppose if Jack Zimmermann jumped off a bridge you might think that sounds mighty fine too?” Coach put his glass down.

“Suzie,” he said, laying a gentle hand over hers and giving her a significant look. Eric saw the realization dawn on his mother’s face, could practically hear the unspoken “breakdown” that hung in the air, but what was actually said was, “Jack is a responsible young man. I think he and Junior’s other friends will see to it that he isn’t completely lost.” Suzanne sighed.

“I suppose. But Dicky, don’t you dare make a habit of skipping out on your responsibilities.”

“I promise, Mama, I will stay right on top of everything.”

* * *

 

And he did. Between the Haus study group and the relative simplicity of his first semester classes, Eric was able to keep up with his studies. Until the Midterms Kool-down Kegster, when, happily situated on top of one of the hockey players in the frat next door to the Haus, he remembered.

“Oh fuck!” he sat up abruptly, hair askew and shirt rucked up.

“Dude, already?” the hockey bro asked, eyebrow raised.

“I have a paper due tomorrow,” Eric explained, already starting to extricate himself from the bed.

“Oh dude, that sucks the big one.”

“Sorry. I uh, had fun?” Eric patted at the tuft of hair sticking up on the back of his head.

“Yeah, was good for me too,” the guy said blandly, already reaching into his pants. By the time Eric was across the room pulling the door shut, hockey bro’s dick was out, his head flopped back against the pillow, as if Eric had never been there at all. _Well then, glad he’s not too heartbroken_ , he thought to himself and trudged down the stairs.

He stood outside the hockey house, staring at the Haus and feeling the street vibrate beneath his sneakers. The party ball hastily duct taped to the living room ceiling lit the windows in a flashing array of rainbow. The only light from upstairs came from Jack’s room. His fingers slid across his phone screen before the decision was fully formed.

“Allo?” The distracted greeting said Jack probably hadn’t checked his caller I.D.

“Hi Jack.” Eric paused. “It’s Eric.”

“You don’t say.”

“I just did.”

“Are you okay? Need me to come get you?”

“I’m okay. Except I just remembered I forgot to write my paper for American History.”

“Bittle, it’s two a.m.”

“I am _aware_. Jack, I just left mid-hookup for this, if you know anything at all about U.S. history, please come help me, otherwise fuck my grade I’m going back upstairs.” The exasperated sigh was a protracted burst of static in his ear, but Jack relented.

“Okay, give me five to find my notebooks and some pants. And know that you definitely owe me a batch of those homemade granola bars.”

“ _Anything_.”

“Five minutes,” Jack promised, then promptly hung up.

When he saw the light in Jack’s room go out, Eric stood up from the porch steps where he had been waiting. It took another few minutes before the front door of the Haus opened to reveal Jack, backpack slung over his shoulder. They met in the middle of the street and Jack gave a tired but fond grin in response to Eric’s grateful smile, and in mutual silent agreement, they made for Eric’s dorm.

The room was empty, so Eric texted his roommate that he’d gotten home okay and wished him a fun night when the roommate said, “Enjoy, see you after breakfast ;)”

“Well, looks like we got the place to ourselves for the duration,” Eric told Jack, trying not to sound like he could think of much better reasons than this stupid paper for him to want Jack alone.

“Good.” Jack made himself comfortable on Eric’s bed, kicking off his shoes and getting his notes and laptop set up. “I brought reading to do while you’re writing, but I’ll help you outline and edit.”

“You are a saint.”

“I am an insomniac. Believe me, this is going to be just as good for my sanity as yours.”

“Well alrighty, I guess I won’t feel too bad.”

“I still expect granola bars.” Jack winked. Eric’s face burned, but he just focused on getting a blank document ready to go. “So what’s this paper on, eh?”

“I have to write a few pages on a New Deal program and its immediate and long-term effects.”

As luck would have it, Jack knew a _lot_ about the New Deal. And he had more than enough feelings about it for Eric to pick a thesis. Jack flipped his notebook open to a page covered in messy, blocky print, turned it towards Eric, and laughed at his horrified expression.

“What?”

“This is completely illegible,” Eric complained.

“Oh come on, it’s not that bad.”

“Really Jack, is this how your brain works? Because if so, I have to say, I’m a mite concerned.”

“At least I _have_ notes, Bittle.” Jack gestured at the blank document on the screen. “Is this how _your_ brain works? Because if so, I have to say, I’m a mite concerned,” he mimicked.

“Jack Laurent Zimmermann, let me live,” he huffed, flopping over onto the comforter, taking the laptop with him. Curled on his side with the computer, Eric started filling in the heading and basic title of his paper and jotting down a few of the points Jack had made into a quick outline. He’d started sorting through JSTOR to find the shortest relevant articles possible, figuring Jack had disappeared into his own corner of peer-reviewed purgatory, when the bed shifted under him and a warm weight pressed along his back. It was Jack, and Eric almost jumped out of his damn skin because Jack had spooned up right behind him, chin hooked over his shoulder and arm flopping down over his abdomen.

“How’s it going?” Jack’s breath tickled as it blew over Eric’s skin, the low rumble of his voice vibrating through Eric’s ribs.

“It’s...happening. Slowly. But I don’t think I’ll flunk.” Jack nodded, chin digging a little uncomfortably into Eric’s shoulder.

“Yeah, this is looking pretty good.” He figured Jack will let go and return to his reading, but he stays wrapped around Eric.

“How’s your reading coming there?” he asked teasingly.

“Done.”

“Already?”

“I did start it at a decent hour. That is possible.”

“Hmmm...sounds fake.” Eric could feel gentle laughter at his back. Well...looks like this is just his life right now. He went back to writing, struggling to get all of the bullet-points in his outline put into coherent sentences. For a minute, he blanked out, staring at the blinking cursor on the screen. He was tired and warm, and he could feel his eyelids drooping. And then Jack spoke up.

“Created the infrastructure necessary for the rapid development of industry during the war boom of the early forties?” Eric physically shook off his exhaustion.

“Hmm?”

“Oh, just...where you were going with that sentence. You could say ‘In addition to the immediate economic relief and placation of the anxious, unemployed masses, the formation of the WPA created the infrastructure necessary for the rapid development of industry during the war boom of the early forties.’”

“Oh. Thanks, that’s really good.”

“Not my first rodeo.” Eric typed in the end of the sentence, and getting past that block gave him the burst he needed to get the rest of the paper out, Jack proofreading as he went, keeping himself tucked close throughout. At some point, he caught part of Eric’s hoodie in his fingers, idly rubbing at the soft fabric. Eric didn’t realize that there was such a soft side to Jack. He knew he was kind, one of the most loyal and dedicated friends he’d ever had, but compared to the rest of the group they hung out with, he’d never been up for all of the casual cuddling (aside from Shitty trapping him in a bear hug). This gentle, sleepy Jack was incredibly endearing, and Eric’s chest felt warm and tight.

He put the finishing touches on the essay around three thirty. After saving the document about five times and promptly sending it to the print queue, he closed the laptop with a satisfying “slap,” and turned to look over his shoulder at Jack, only to find him fast asleep. Exhausted and resigned, Eric just wiggled carefully out of Jack’s arms and trudged off to the bathroom to brush his teeth. While tugging on his pajamas, he briefly contemplated sleeping in his roommate’s bed, but upon realizing he didn’t really know how clean the guy was and feeling like it would be...cold - a rejection of this intimacy Jack offered, he lay back down and pulled a blanket over them both.

* * *

 

Eric expected to sleep terribly, to lie awake staring at the ceiling until the sun came up, Jack woke, and he was inevitably left with the uncomfortable silence and an empty bed. Instead, he slept the best he had since coming to college. The bed was warm and, completely relaxed, Jack was actually very soft to snuggle against. Eric’s breaths unconsciously synched with Jack’s, his eyes got heavy, and the next thing he knew, the sun was streaming in from the single window.

He stretched, joints popping pleasantly. And then his foot brushed a leg, and all of a sudden, he snapped back to the moment and felt fully Jack pressed up behind him. He startled just enough to jostle the bed, and his heart skittered in his chest as Jack stirred. The arm around his waist tightened momentarily, and a soft groan escaped Jack as he woke fully. The sound shocked down Eric’s spine and oh god, he was _actually_ going to die. In some twist of cosmic mercy, Jack wasn’t sporting morning wood - that would be the actual death of him.

“Oh. Hey.” Jack’s breath ghosted over Eric’s neck, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut so he could compose his voice enough to get out,

“Morning.” Jack stretched again, and the movement pushed them closer.

“Morning. I didn’t ruin your sleep, did I?” He looked so genuinely concerned Eric couldn’t let him be uncomfortable.

“You didn’t make a peep,” he said, because he couldn’t quite admit just how much Jack _didn’t_ ruin his sleep.

“Okay.” They lay in silence for another minute, unsure of how to act normally now that they were both lucid. Eric was about to roll over and see if Jack just passed back out when their phones buzzed simultaneously, the group chat lighting up with all the dirt and surreptitiously taken pictures of shame. It gave them something appropriate to do with their hands and something safe to talk about. Lying next to each other, they made fun of their friends’ questionable-at-best choices - Holster making out with his ex, Esther (again), Ransom instigating body shots, Shitty’s general personality. The best chirps got sent to the group chat, but mostly they were just giggling to themselves and speaking in broken sentences as they realized they were nowhere near the losers of this week’s morning after. Jack even went as far as to say,

“I think I definitely chose the best place to wake up today.” And even though Eric knew how Jack really meant that, his brain couldn’t really switch off the nagging curiosity of what could be if Jack thought differently - _was_ different.

The chat died back down after a while, everyone either going out in search of food or back to sleep. Jack locked his phone back up, let out a final stretch-and-groan, and asked,

“Wanna hit Commons? I’m getting pretty hungry.” Eric took the out and agreed, hopping out of bed and shucking out of his pajamas. He tried not to imagine Jack’s eyes on him as he dressed. When he turned around, Jack was idly thumbing through his textbook.

“You ready?” Jack looked back up.

“Oh. Yeah, let’s go.”

* * *

 

At Commons, Jack and Eric split up - Jack to the omelette bar, Eric to the buffet. He loaded his plate with a pile of french toast sticks and homefries, drowning the whole thing in the watered-down fake syrup in the vat at the end of the line. Jack sidled up behind him, and in lieu of greeting said,

“You should eat more protein.” Eric jumped, flushed, and finally defended his breakfast.

“I am a figure skater, I need energy. If I become some muscle-brained jock-head I won’t be able to get any lift to my jumps.”

“Hey, a muscle-brained jock-head just saved your grade.”

“I’m just sayin’, don’t go mocking my diet plan - I get results.”

Jack conceded the point then, and sat down with his heap of egg whites and spinach, tucking in with one last glance at Eric’s plate that fell between longing and dismay. Looking at the man himself, Eric could relate. Jack was sweet and smart and handsome, and whenever Eric had brought Philip to hang out with the guys, he hadn’t batted an eye, just chatted as politely as Jack ever managed about college plans and books they were reading. He was exactly the kind of friend he’d dreamed of having in Georgia. If he was being completely honest with himself, Jack was the kind of _boyfriend_ he’d dreamed of. But there be dragons.

Because for all that he went to a super-queer liberal arts college and might accidentally minor in Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality Studies, Jack Zimmermann seemed as straight as an arrow shaft. And even if he did like men, he was older and played football and drank horrific concoctions that contained lots of kale and protein powder. There was no way Eric would be remotely his type. Eric could feel himself getting maudlin, so he shook himself and took a sip of coffee to ground himself.

“Falling asleep there Bittle?” Jack asked, smirking over his orange juice.

“I don’t know how in the hell you’re even awake right now,” he covered.

“I did get a little extra sleep,” Jack reminded him, and _god_ did he not need to be reminded of Jack falling asleep spooned up against him.

“That’s right, you abandoned me,” Eric teased.

“I did not,” he objected. “I was there the whole time.”

“And what’s your alibi, the drool patch on the back of my shirt?”

“I do not drool!” This came out louder than Jack had probably meant for and they got a couple of looks. “Do not!” Jack whispered forcefully, leaning across the table.

“Do too!” Eric whispered back, leaning in as well. Their faces were inches apart, and Eric had to fight to keep his face from softening. In the end he couldn’t quite manage it after Jack reached up to wipe a smear of syrup from his cheek, the pad of it rough and warm on Eric’s face, and then licked the syrup off like it was nothing. And then made an exaggeratedly offended expression at how ludicrously fake it tasted.

Eric hated his life. Before he could do anything stupid, he leaned back into his own space and returned to his breakfast.

* * *

 

The dining hall offerings were meagre enough that Eric texted his mother to say he was coming over for dinner and did she need anything from the store. She told him to grab eggs and some greens for a salad and “I’m thinking I’ll do brownies for dessert. Maybe you can pick up some ice cream to put on top.” Eric didn’t miss what a loaded statement that was. His mama thought brownies were just about the lowest a baked good could sink. Tiny batches, an inelegant slop of batter waiting in a pan, and finicky to make to boot. But they were Coach’s favorite comfort food, hot and sticky fresh out of the oven, a scoop of ice cream melting over top.

“What’s wrong with Coach?” he asked. Mama sighed.

“I don’t know, baby. He was just in a rotten mood when he came home from practice. He was real quiet, just took a beer and a puddin’ cup back to his study.”

“I wonder what happened,” Eric murmured, thinking briefly of Jack and wondering if he was upset too. He clicked away from the call to his messaging window and sent off a quick text to Jack. _Coach is in a mood. You alright?_ There was no reply bubbles, but he hadn’t expected a prompt reply. Instead of waiting to hear back, he wrapped up the call with Mama and headed off to the Stop & Shop.

Back at the house, he set the bags of groceries down on the kitchen table and started rifling through for the greens to get started on the salad.

“Thank you, baby,” Mama said, brushing a hand across his back as she passed behind. “I know you’re just on the other side of town, but I do miss having you around.” He laughs, but tucks his chin over her shoulder on his way to get tongs, promising,

“I miss you too.”

They had everything set out on the table in a few minutes, and Suzanne hollered “Riiiichard! Diiiiner!” towards the back of the house. Coach joined them a moment later, dropping into his seat at the head of the table with a grunt that sounded more pained than ill-tempered. He complimented Suzanne on dinner and asked “Junior” how his classes were going as always, and between bites, Eric and his mama traded glances.

Neither of them dared ask about practice until the brownies were cut and ice cream scooped. Only then did Suzanne clear her throat and and ask, “So sweetheart, how was practice?” Eric shoved a large spoonful of ice cream in his mouth, anticipating a long-winded speech about whatever the boys had done to piss him off. Instead, Coach looked a little awkward and addressed Eric.

“Well, funny enough, I wanted to talk to you about that.”

“Oh?” Eric’s ind raced, frantically trying to recall if he’d played a part in any activities that could’ve affected the boys’ game. “Well fire away.”

“It’s - it’s a favor - a biggun, and you can say no.”

“Okay...Daddy, you’re makin me nervous.”

“Sorry, sorry. Uh, well, you know how our backup kicker has been on leave with mono?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, it seems our starting kicker busted his ankle playing soccer.”

“Oh...So you want _me_ to…”

“Fill in, yeah.”

“Coach…”

“I know. I said it was big. And I can see about pulling one of the boys from fourth string, but you’ve got a good leg and you know the team.”

“Richard,” Suzanne warned.

“And kickers hardly ever get tackled,” he promised.

“Richard, that’s enough,” Suzanne said again, firmer. Eric was silent for a moment, staring at his father. Things were different now than they were in Georgia, he knew this. He had his father’s support, the boys knew he was gay and didn’t make an ordeal of it - a few of them were even queer too. The only thing that really bothered him still was the idea of being tackled, but the fact that Ransom and Holster would be his defense…

“I’ll do it.”

“You will?” Both his parents sounded shocked, but a grin was breaking out from under Coach’s moustache. Meanwhile Mama looked like she’d swallowed a frog.

“Dicky, you know you don’t have to, right? Not if this is gonna bring your problem back.”

“I’m not gonna faint, Mama,” he told her, trying not to sound irritated. “You’re not supposed to even touch the kicker, and besides…” Eric looked at his father. “I wanna help the team.” Coach nodded, beaming.

“Practice is at 3:30 tomorrow. We’ll get you out there and see if you’re comfortable, and if all goes well, we’ll play you Friday.”

“I’ll be there,” Eric promised.

“Thank you,” Coach said. “I can’t tell you how much it means that you’re even willing to try.” Eric nods at his father, but when he stands to clear the table, he’s engulfed in a bear hug. He squeezes his eyes shut and reminds himself that his father is already proud of him. This is just icing on the cake.


End file.
